


The Leaky Cauldron

by Phoenixstrike



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Male Homosexuality, Sexual Content, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-31
Updated: 2012-08-31
Packaged: 2017-11-13 06:07:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/500325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phoenixstrike/pseuds/Phoenixstrike
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>HP/DM slash. Life isn't going well for Harry Potter. His wife has thrown him out, he's living in a pub, he's as drunk as a lord, and for some reason his mouth keeps saying things his brain hasn't authorised. Can it get any more complicated? Of course it can, when a certain blond git shows up. A HPDM fic, set 4 years after the end of DH ignoring epilogue . Oneshot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Leaky Cauldron

** **

_Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all its associates are owned and copyrighted by JK Rwling and various publishers including Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Warner bros. No money from this fan fiction is being made and no copyright infringement is intended._  
  
Draco stood in the entrance of the pub, watching a familiar raven-haired figure slumped over the bar. He watched as the man received a drink, opened his mouth and downed the contents in one. It was the third drink he had seen the man gulp in as many minutes.

“And that’s another thing,” Harry Potter slurred, as he slammed his shot-glass back onto the counter, gripping the sides of the bar tightly with his fingers to prevent himself slipping off the bar stool, on which he was precariously balanced. “She said… she said that I don’t do it for her in bed!” He left out a loud hiccough as Tom the bartender again refilled his glass with smoking Firewhiskey. Harry accepted the drink and once more knocked it back, wiping his mouth on the dirty sleeve of his Muggle shirt. “Fuck, I think I’m drunk.”

“No shit, Potter,” Draco drawled, not content to simply stand back and observe for any longer. Harry turned towards the sound much too quickly, promptly fell of his stool, and landed in a pile on the floor. It took him several attempts to pull himself up again whilst Draco stood in the doorway staring, arms folded, a smirk etched onto his pale features. 

“Malfoy,” Harry uttered, once he was back on his feet. He turned back to the bartender. “Of all the gin joints, in all the towns, in all the world, he has to walk into mine.” Then he let out giggle. 

“What the fuck are you on about, Potter?” Draco asked, as he walked towards the bar. “There’s only one wizarding pub in the whole of Diagon Alley, where else would I go?”

“No, Malfoy, it’s _Casablanca,_ ” Harry replied.

“It’s fucking London, you dickhead,” was the blond’s reply. 

Evidently deciding he wasn’t in the mood to discuss Muggle popular culture with his boyhood nemesis, Harry simply returned to his stool instead. “Wha’ yer drinkin’, Malfoy?” 

“Butterbeer, if you’re buying,” Draco replied. Harry ordered their drinks, handed Draco a glass full of frothy Butterbeer, downed yet another shot of the fiery alcohol, and let out a huge belch before Draco had even raised his glass to his lips for his first sip. 

“Fuck, Potter, how many of those have you had?” he asked, loath to admit he was actually worried about The Chosen Twat’s welfare. 

“Don’ know. Stopped countin’ around seven,” Harry replied. Draco noticed that Harry’s eyes were no longer focussing properly and he was dangerously close to slipping off his seat once more.

“Let’s get you sat down somewhere a bit safer,” Draco told him. Potter had saved his life four years ago after all; the least Draco could do was make sure the git didn’t kill himself by breaking his neck falling off a stool. It definitely wasn’t, Draco told himself, out of actual concern for him, that he wanted Potter in a less perilous position. But Harry Potter, Auror and Darling of the Wizarding World, simply didn’t behave like this. It was extremely out of character. Okay, maybe Draco _was_ worried about him. A bit. 

He led Harry towards an empty table, where there were chairs with supportive backrests and the drop to the floor was much lower than it was from the barstool, and helped him into a chair, where Harry swayed dangerously before finding some sort of equilibrium. 

“Potter, what in the name of Merlin has happened for you to get yourself into this state?” Draco asked. Harry took a deep sigh. 

“My wife has left me,” Harry said bluntly. “Or, to be more accurate, she’s made me leave her, given that she took the house and threw me out. Isn’t that wonderful?” And suddenly he began to cry; big, angry tears flowed from his emerald eyes, he gave huge, raspy sobs, and his nose began to run. Harry sniffed a couple of times before wiping his nose on his filthy shirt, causing Draco to wince. 

Five years ago, something like this that caused Potter to break down so spectacularly in front of him would have been a source of much joy for Draco. Now, however, as he surveyed the distraught Potter, pissed as a newt, weeping, and snot dripping everywhere, he felt immense pity. 

Draco remembered reading about Potter and the Weaselette’s engagement in _The Prophet_. It had only been about nine months after Voldemort’s defeat, and the newspaper had carried the headline, ‘ _Ginny Weasley is Potter’s Chosen One’,_ a headline that still made Draco feel nauseous from its sickly-sweetness.Then, just a few short months later, a special souvenir edition of _Witch Weekly_ was printed, ‘In honour of the Wizarding Wedding of the Decade’, full of photos of the ceremony. Draco’s mother had bought one and spent hours poring over the photographs, much to Draco and his father’s chagrin; since she had saved Harry’s life, she had developed more than a modicum of interest in him, it seemed. Ginny had just turned eighteen, and Harry nineteen when they wed. Too young to settle down for life, Draco had sneered, whilst the rest of society fawned over its Golden Couple. It was the perfect fairy-tale romance. 

And here Harry was, three short years later at the ripe old age of twenty-two: inebriated, sobbing, apparently homeless and sitting in a dingy pub with Draco Malfoy with a failed marriage weighing heavily on his shoulders. What a fall from grace. 

“Another drink, Potter?” Draco asked, knowing what the answer would be. Sure enough, Harry nodded, and Draco went to the bar. He brought Harry’s drink back and sat it in front of him.

“Wha’s this shit?” Harry slurred. 

“Orange juice,” Draco replied. “You’ve had enough Firewhiskey to drown a Crup puppy in. Last thing I want to have to do tonight is take a detour on my way home to drop you off at St. Mungo’s because you’ve got acute alcohol poisoning.” Harry scowled but took a large swig of juice nonetheless. 

“Potter, why has she thrown you out?” Draco asked, wondering if this was something that was acceptable to ask your completely intoxicated former-enemy. 

“Lots of reasons,” Harry replied vaguely. “Says it’ll never work between us. I miss her.” And with that he began to cry again. 

“Okay,” Draco said, his patience running out finally. “Time to get you home- er- I mean, wherever you’re staying. Come on, I’ll take you. You can’t Apparate on your own like this, you’ll end up Splinching yourself.”

“’M already home. ‘M staying here,” Harry replied. Draco looked around at the poorly-lit and dank pub, a slight frown of distaste on his face. He had never stayed at the Leaky Cauldron; maybe the bedrooms were in a better condition than the bar, he thought to himself, as he helped Harry out of the chair and guided him towards the guestrooms. 

He had thought wrong. Harry tried, unsuccessfully, to insert the key into the spell-proof door for three minutes before Draco snapped and snatched the key away from Harry’s fumbling grip. He swiftly unlocked the door and pushed it open, before letting out an involuntary gasp as he surveyed the condition of the room. 

Potter was living _here_? Draco swallowed hard. He was _not_ supposed to be feeling sorry for Potter, but he couldn’t stop himself. The first thing Draco noticed was the chill; the room was cool, especially so for early September. The window was partly open; Draco crossed the room to close it and grimaced at the Gryffindor-coloured curtains; scarlet and gold dressed the window, however not in the regal manner the Gryffindor colours at Hogwarts dressed the Great Hall, but in a drab way that somehow managed to make the tiny room appear even smaller. The floorboards were bare and unfinished, save a ragged mossy-coloured rug covering the floor closest to the bed. Draco noticed Harry’s broomstick and a small suitcase poking out from beneath the wooden bedframe; the only items he now owned in the world. Draco was surprised by how strong his surge of sympathy for Potter was at that moment. His whole life had, literally, been swept under the bed. 

Draco knelt onto the bed and shut the window firmly, then returned to the doorway, where Harry was leaning against the frame, swaying unsteadily. Draco gripped his left arm gently but securely, and led Harry to the bed. He helped him remove his shoes but decided to leave the rest of his clothing, although he did take off Harry’s glasses, putting them within easy reach for when Harry woke up. 

Harry already had his eyes screwed shut, curled up in the foetal position. Draco realised he had never seen anyone looking quite as vulnerable as Potter did at that moment. The thought gave him no pleasure. He made to leave but as an afterthought he reached out for the manky old threadbare blanket and covered Harry up to his chin, then crossed the room to the door once more. 

He had a hand on the doorknob when Harry muttered and turned over. 

“Ginny’s wrong, y’know,” he said, words blending together and mumbled drunkenly, “I’m not in love with you.”

Draco froze. Had he just heard what he thought he had?

“She’s wrong,” Harry said again. “Definitely wrong. G’night, Draco. Thanks for being nice to me this evening.” Then he gave a huge snore, finally asleep. 

_Well, that was unexpected_ , Draco thought, as he exited the room and closed the door behind him, completely and utterly confused by what he had just heard. 

****

Draco reached the Apparition point in Diagon Alley and quickly Apparated to the Manor, his head reeling. What in Circe’s name had Harry said or done to convince Ginny Potter that her husband was in love with him so absolutely, that she was prepared to end their marriage? He and Harry hardly even saw each other these days; their boyhood animosity towards one another was long-since over but they were far from friends; cordial conversations and nods of the head to each other when they passed in the Atrium was the extent of their social intercourse at work. Until this evening they had not even had a drink with one another.

Draco removed his Unspeakable robes and hung them meticulously in his walk-in closet, before dressing for bed. Why did he have to choose _tonight_ of all nights to pop into the Leaky for a quick drink before coming home? He climbed under his comfortable crisp sheets and waved his wand to extinguish the lamps in the room, before closing his eyes. However sleep did not come easily. Green eyes, wide, wet and unfocussed, were floating in front of his eyelids. He thought about the last hour or so’s events- Harry really had seemed a total mess. 

In the morning, after a disturbed night, Draco waited for his mother and father to leave to visit friends, then he sneaked into his mother’s study. Thirty minutes and several rifled-through drawers later and Draco had found what he was searching for: the souvenir copy of Harry and Ginny’s wedding of _Witch Weekly_. He returned to his personal chambers and closed the door firmly behind him. 

Draco sat at his writing desk and looked at the front cover. There was Harry, in formal dress robes of deep navy blue, smiling at his bride as Ginny pulled him towards her for a kiss. Draco studied the picture closely; there was something off about Harry’s smile in the image. To all intents and purposes he appeared every part the besotted husband, but Draco noticed the smile didn’t quite reach those emerald eyes. He opened the magazine and began to inspect the images closely. Ginny Potter was radiant with happiness in them, beaming at everyone. Harry looked almost overwhelmed, a moronic smile almost plastered on his face in virtually every shot that was printed in this stupid publication. 

Had it just been because of his natural awkwardness in front of the cameras, or was there another reason for Harry’s obvious discomfort in the photographs? Draco remembered reading the announcement in _The Prophet_ when Potter and the She-Weasel decided to sell the images of their wedding to the wretched magazine in exchange for a ‘significant’ sum donated to the War Recovery effort. Twenty-four hours ago Draco would have said this explained the apparent lack of enthusiasm on the face of the very private Potter. After last night, however, Draco had to wonder if there was another reason behind the fixed grins. Harry just did not look happy in his own wedding photographs. Speculating wasn’t going to help, however; Draco was going to have to talk to Potter. 

**** 

It was the following Friday by the time Draco built up enough courage to seek Harry out. He managed to avoid Harry all week at the Ministry, preferring for a more informal venue to meet. Draco took a long time making sure he looked his best that evening; anything that could clue him in to the mentality of Potter. 

He Apparated from the Manor to Diagon Alley and immediately sought out the pub. Once again, there was Harry, on the same bar stool, but this time obviously sober. Draco was pleased to see the man wasn’t even drinking alcohol; he was sipping from a goblet of pumpkin juice and picking at a plate of Ploughman’s which was clearly his dinner. Draco crossed the dull and, thankfully, empty pub and took the stool next to Harry’s, who looked up in surprise, before immediately schooling his features into a more neutral expression. 

“Malfoy,” he said nonchalantly, giving away no outward sign of the previous Friday’s behaviour. A faint flush that flooded Harry’s cheeks was the only indication that Harry recalled, at least in part, their previous meeting. 

“What, no obscure reference to north African cities this time?” Draco mocked, a small smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. Harry let out a small, genuine laugh. Vaguely in the back of his mind, Draco registered that Harry’s laugh had a very impish tone to it. He didn’t find it unpleasant in the slightest. 

“Shit. I wasn’t sure if I’d remembered that right or not,” Harry said, ruffling the back of his already impossible hair with his right hand. “I guess you really were here last week, then?”

“Draco Malfoy, knight in shining armour,” Draco replied, before he could stop himself. _What the fuck are you doing?_ Draco’s brain asked his mouth, as Harry’s blush intensified and he dropped his gaze. He ordered himself a glass of Ogden’s finest which he sipped slowly, savouring the comforting warmth the alcohol offered as it hit his stomach. 

Harry returned to his measly meal, picking at a wilted lettuce leaf and what looked like a wedge of cheese. One he had eaten his fill, he pushed the plate away and ordered another drink. Butterbeer this time. Draco raised an eyebrow. 

“Off the firewhiskey, Potter?” he asked, the sarcasm lacing every syllable. Harry just nodded his head. 

“I didn’t exactly feel my best on Saturday morning. I’m keeping off it for a while,” he replied whilst Draco winced in sympathy. It was only then that it occurred to him that Harry was completely alone. 

“Where’s Weasel and the Mud- I mean, Ron and Hermione?” he quickly amended, and used their given names. After all, they weren’t sixteen any longer and Draco was trying to dig into this man’s privacy. It wouldn’t do to offend him by speaking badly of his best friends. 

“They’re in Australia. During the war, Hermione sort of sent her parents there to live for their own safety,” Harry said. “It turns out they love it out there and didn’t want to come back after Voldemort’s defeat, even when they did recognise Hermione again.” At Draco’s confused expression, Harry told him the whole story of how Hermione had modified her parents’ memories and sent them to the other side of the world. Draco was unsure why he’d decided to share all this information so openly, but welcomed the story nonetheless. “Both have taken a four-month sabbatical from work and they flew out Muggle-style about three weeks ago. Not back until Christmas. Her parents hadn’t even met Rose yet. It’s why I’m staying here, instead of at their place.”

Draco assumed Rose was their daughter, and managed to supress the disgusted shudder that threatened to spill out when a hugely inappropriate and unwelcome mental image of Ron in some kind of orgasmic bliss with Granger as he impregnated the woman rudely entered his mind. He forced it out as quickly as it had arrived. He finished his drink and ordered another one. When that one, too, was drunk, he gestured to a table near the fireplace. Harry picked up his Butterbeer and the pair sat down away from the bar.

They talked some more, about Quidditch, the Ministry, Hogwarts, Snape, but all the time avoiding any discussion of what had occurred seven days ago, in this very pub. Draco was amazed to find that when they stopped trying to annoy the fuck out of each other, they actually got on quite well. It was Harry’s round, and whilst he was buying their drinks, Draco decided to cut to the chase. He hadn’t meant this to be a social visit, even if it had turned out to be a very pleasant evening. 

Harry returned and put two bottles of Butterbeer down on the table. As he put Draco’s down in front of him, Draco noticed Harry had removed his wedding band; a strip of flesh paler than the rest of his tanned hand clearly evident on his ring finger. Draco leant forwards. 

“I was sorry to hear about you and Ginny,” he lied. “Everyone thought you were the perfect couple.” Harry smiled, somewhat mournfully. 

“We married too young. We didn’t know what we wanted,” he replied calmly, his emotions the complete opposite of the previous conversation on this topic the pair had shared, when Drunk Harry had turned into a blubbering mess of nasal mucus. “I thought she was what I needed, we got on so well and I really liked her. We were only together a few weeks, back in sixth year of Hogwarts, then we had a whole year apart whilst I was off looking for the Horcruxes. We’d only been back together a few months when I proposed. The Weasleys… the loss of Fred hit them extremely hard. It seemed the right thing to do. A wedding gave them some hope, something to look forward to.”

 _Well, that’s very interesting,_ Draco thought, as he took a swig of Butterbeer from the bottle, ignoring the glass Harry had brought over with him. 

“I heard you say to Tom that she said you were a lousy lay,” Draco teased, and Harry turned beetroot-red and spluttered into his beer. Draco smirked as Harry mumbled a string of barely audible words, but he managed to catch ‘only one I’ve ever slept with,’ ‘she’s obviously a good actress’ and ‘didn’t exactly let me practise with her often’ whilst staring fixedly at the beermat on the table. Draco snorted, ignoring the warm, fuzzy feeling in his belly that had nothing to do with Butterbeer and Firewhiskey. Stumbling, embarrassed Harry was rather endearing. Draco couldn’t help wondering if Potter was a ‘lousy lay’ simply because his wife was the wrong gender for him to get enthusiastic about. The thought of Potter sucking another man off, those brilliantly-green eyes locked with a male lover’s _definitely_ didn’t cause a twitch to his cock, and it _certainly_ didn’t cause the faint blush that appeared on his cheeks. 

The pair talked and drank together for a few more hours, before Tom called time at the bar. They both stood, and Harry held out a hand. Draco felt a jolt of déjà vu shoot through him and it forced a smile onto his face. He extended his own arm and accepted the handshake, then turned to leave. 

“Draco,” the voice was uncertain, as Draco turned back. “Did… did I do anything stupid last week?” Harry asked, green eyes wide. 

_ Yes. You fell off a stool and you got snot all over my robes. You burped like some sort of uncouth troglodyte and you sobbed like a child. Oh, and of course there’s the small matter of you saying that your soon-to-be ex-wife thinks you’re in love with me, and you did a piss-poor job of convincing me otherwise.  _ “No, nothing,” Draco replied instead, wondering where, exactly, his plan to speak to Potter had changed so dramatically. “Goodnight, Harry.” With that he exited the pub and Apparated away. 

**** 

Draco decided to visit Blaise on Sunday. He wondered vaguely when Blaise had stopped giving a fuck what the world thought of him as he sipped cappuccino with amaretto syrup in the most ostentatious conservatory known to man; the floor was overlaid in large lilac tiles, whilst the furniture was in a deep jet black. Two ebony armchairs surrounded a solid genuine onyx table which must have cost a few thousand Galleons, and the entire room was filled with trinkets and artefacts all in either highly polished white or black marble. To complete the look, Blaise had installed a charmed ceiling like the one at Hogwarts; totally unnecessary, in Draco’s opinion, when the fucking thing is made of glass and only eight feet from the floor anyway. But that is Blaise Zabini all over: flashy, flamboyant, with far more money than taste. And as straight as an arrow, much to Draco’s utter confusion, as he picked up a white fluffy cushion from his armchair and stroked it absent-mindedly.

“So you didn’t say anything to him, then?” Blaise probed, the merest hint of the Italian accent he never fully managed to lose just audible in his words. Draco shook his head and took another sip of his over-the-top almond cappuccino. It wasn’t bad. Draco shook his head. Not for the first time, he wondered if confiding in Blaise was the most sensible thing he’d ever done. 

“I meant to. But he seemed so, I don’t know, _normal,_ ” Draco said, and he meant it, too. Friday Harry was a different man to Last Week Harry. The two had got on well, shared interesting and stimulating conversation, and Draco had enjoyed himself. As loath as he was to admit it. 

Blaise just smirked. 

“And why do you care so much what Our Saviour feels about you, anyway?” he said, in that irritating ‘I know something you don’t know’ voice that was far too commonplace whilst they were still in Hogwarts together. “Why do you feel the need to desperately find out? Is it just to boost your inflated ego? The Chosen One is quite an impressive name to add to your already-too-long list of admirers, I suppose. And there’s not one other single name on that list who, by the way, you could give a fuck about.”

Draco hadn’t thought of that. Why _did_ he care so much what Harry thought of him?

“If you have something to say, Zabini, spit it out. I’m a busy man,” Draco replied, faking nonchalance with every word. Blaise put down his cappuccino and flashed Draco a perfect smile. 

“You’re in love with Potter, too,” he replied bluntly, the smile turning to a scowl when Draco promptly spat amaretto-flavoured coffee onto Blaise’s pristine white rug, as he drew his wand and siphoned off the mess. 

“You think… that I… I’m not… what the _fuck_ , Blaise?!” Draco said, incredulous. Blaise just laughed. 

“All that ‘I hate Potter’ crap. That’s all you ever talked about for seven years at school. Night after night, Theo, Greg, Vince and I had to listen to every little irritating detail he’d got up to that day that had pissed you off, because you’d watched him so bloody closely. Even during our seventh year when Potter wasn’t even in school, you still talked about him all the bloody time! Come on, Draco, everyone knows love and hate are different sides of the same Galleon. You’ve been obsessed with the man since you were eleven years old, for fuck’s sake. You never could just leave him alone, could you?”

“Because Potter was an irritating fucking prick at school, not because I secretly wanted to shag him!” Draco yelled. Malfoys don’t yell, but Draco was prepared to make an exception for his wanker of a friend. Blaise let out a chuckle. The tone sounded patronising, which didn’t help Draco’s rapidly-flaring temper. 

“Of course. And why is it now you keep going to visit him at the Leaky, if not because you want to get in his robes?”

“I… I just want to know the truth, and maybe if he does admit it, it’ll give me great blackmail material!” Draco supplied. He didn’t even believe the words himself, and Blaise certainly didn’t, if the condescending look he was receiving from him was anything to go by.

“You keep telling yourself that, Malfoy,” he drawled. He looked like he was fighting a laugh as he lazily cast a Tempus Charm. “Look, this has been great, and I’m glad I got to be the one to give you some home truths. Pansy will be pissed off she missed this. But must fly, my friend, I’m meeting Kat for lunch in an hour, and it’s rude to keep the lady waiting. _Ciao_ , and all that.”

He led Draco through the conservatory and back into the entrance hall, which was just as elaborately and brazenly decorated as the rest of Blaise’s house, and filled with expensive and rare pieces of modern art. 

“How are you not gay?” Draco wondered aloud, as he surveyed a lump of stone in his hands that resembled a naked man with an aroused penis that made Draco feel rather inadequate. 

“I believe the Muggles have a word for me. ‘Metrosexual’, I think. And we mustn’t stereotype, Draco,” Blaise replied, rolling his eyes, as he took the art off Draco and placed it back in its correct spot. Draco rolled his eyes, too, in response.

“Wizards have a word for you, too. ‘Tosser’. See you later, Blaise. Thanks for confusing the fuck out of me,” he retorted dryly. Then he turned on the sport and Disapparated, feeling wholly worse for his visit. 

**** 

Draco came to suddenly from sleep, wondering what had woken him, before hearing a storm raging outside and a flash of colour from the lightning filled his bedroom. He was irritated; he’d awoken from a particularly delicious dream involving a sandy-blond man who was sucking his cock whilst bringing himself off at the same time. Draco cast a quick Tempus and groaned when it revealed it to only be three in the morning. He then realised he was painfully hard due to the dream. Knowing the quickest way to get it to go away so he could return to sleep was to have a quick wank, Draco slid down his pyjama bottoms and wrapped his hand around his shaft. The memory of the recent dream flooded his brain, and his breathing quickened as he became more and more turned on. However he realised rather quickly the image wasn’t going to bring him off; his arousal had plateaued. A couple of minutes went by and Draco’s frustration grew as his hand movement sped up. Suddenly the sandy-blond in his fantasies disappeared, to be replaced by a raven-haired man who locked his impossibly-green, lust-filled eyes with his, as he swallowed his dick to the hilt. From nowhere, Draco’s arousal spiked and peaked, bringing him to a shuddering climax. Mortified by the rather dramatic turn of events, Draco reached for his wand to clean up, desperately trying _not_ to think about the fact he had just masturbated to an image of Harry Potter. 

“Fuck you, Blaise, and your stupid mindfucks,” he said aloud into the empty dark. He quickly cast a Silencing Charm to block out the sound of the storm, before rolling over and falling into an uneasy sleep.

**** 

As the month went on, Harry and Draco fell into an awkward type of friendship. Friday night had rapidly become Harry and Draco’s Night Out Together ( _and how the fuck did that happen_? Draco wondered idly one Friday in late September, as he sat at the bar in the Leaky, drinking his oak-matured mead whilst Harry talked about the recent match between the Magpies and the Harpies). They had slipped into a pattern- Harry would eat dinner in the pub, then the two would drink together until time at the bar was called. 

As October arrived, Draco began to wonder if there was perhaps an element of truth in Blaise’s words. Perhaps. Of course, Draco tried to deny it to himself vehemently, but as he brushed the head of his cock with his thumb and came with a loud cry to a mental picture of Harry Potter fingering his arse, he had to admit that he perhaps had a passing attraction to the irritating former Gryffindor. Draco was sure of one thing, however; the two of them couldn’t continue as they were. 

On Friday afternoon Draco accosted Harry in the Ministry’s canteen as the Auror was about to leave. 

“Look, about tonight,” he began, and smirked internally when he saw Harry’s eyebrows furrow in disappointment, obviously thinking Draco was going to cancel on him. Harry clearly enjoyed his company as much as Draco enjoyed Harry’s.

“Look, it’s okay, I mean, you don’t-” Harry began, but Draco held up a hand to silence him.

“I’m bored with the Leaky, and I’m sure you must be fed up with pub grub. How about you and I go out properly- a nice meal, followed by a club? On me,” he added, celebrating a small victory when Harry’s face seemed to light up with pleasure, all traces of the previous disappointment erased. 

“Sure,” he replied softly, _and_ _surely that’s not a blush on Our Saviour’s cheeks, is it_? “Although I don’t exactly have any clubbing clothes.”

“I’ll stop by and drop you something of mine off for you to wear, then. Say seven?” the blond suggested, smiling at Harry’s accepting nod, before taking his tray of ham salad to a table and began to eat. 

Only once he was throwing his rubbish in the bin ten minutes later did he realise he’d just asked Harry out on a sodding date. 

**** 

“Are you sure this suits me, Draco?” Harry asked, unconvinced, as he stood in front of the mirror, appraising his outfit. Draco’s cock certainly thought so; Harry was dressed in Draco’s tight-fitting black Levi’s (Draco harbouring a secret love of Muggle fashions meant he owned rather a lot of designer labelled-clothing) twinned with a deep green button-up shirt, and a pair of snakeskin boots. The boots had reminded Draco of Harry’s ability to speak Parseltongue, and the thought sent a shiver cascading from head to toe when he had selected the outfit earlier. Combined with the fact that Draco had managed to make Harry’s hair appear artistically sculptured rather than a complete and utter mess, and Harry was wearing contact lenses for the evening instead of his glasses (“they’re too much effort to wear every day, Draco, plus they irritate my eyes after a while,”) Draco found he could sum Harry’s appearance up in one word: shaggable. 

“You look fine,” Draco replied with as much casualness he could muster, grateful for the slim-fit black Armani shirt he had chosen to wear over blue denim hiding the semi-hard erection that had formed due to the sight of Harry’s arse in the jeans. Honestly, he was in his twenties now, not a randy teenager; surely he should be able to have a better grip on his libido than that? “Where do you fancy going to eat?”

Harry shrugged his shoulders which Draco took to mean he didn’t care, so decided to take him to a delicious, and rather expensive, Muggle restaurant in Soho that served good quality Italian food and had an extensive wine list. Staying out of the wizarding world tonight seemed like a good idea, for some reason. He took Harry’s arm and Apparated them both to a deserted alley, one he often used for Apparition into this particular area of London.

Harry pulled one corner of his mouth into a crooked smile when he saw the restaurant. 

“Muggle food, Draco? Really?” he quipped, pushing open the door and stepping inside. 

“I may not know anything about Muggle culture,” Draco replied, “but eating in Diagon Alley gets very dull after you’ve tried every restaurant a few times. There are only so many wizarding eateries. It’s Muggle style or endless repetition. Come on.”

Harry looked lost whilst staring at the wine list, so Draco took the liberty of choosing a vintage. He cringed in embarrassment when Harry sucked the cork instead of sniffing it to test the bouquet when the waitress handed to him, much to her amusement. It also gave him far too many thoughts of Harry sucking something else, and Draco was sure _that_ wouldn’t be allowed in a restaurant.

“Not been to too many fancy places, Potter?” he asked dryly, pouring them both a glass of Pinot Grigio. Harry flushed and took a large sip of his drink. 

The food was great and the wine flowed. Draco barely noticed either, however. Harry’s eyes were alive with a spark he’d never seen in them before as he chatted away animatedly; whether due to the alcohol lowering his inhibitions, the change of scenery, or simply his lack of glasses, Draco didn’t know, but the blond found he couldn’t tear his eyes away from Harry’s face. By the time he’d paid the bill, he was half-pissed, turned on, and really, really wanted to skip the club, settling instead for taking Harry back to the Leaky Cauldron and fucking him into the mattress. 

Harry’s eyes widened as they entered the club and sat at the bar. Draco turned round to see what had unsettled his companion and was greeted by the sight of scantily-clad men kissing, or engaging in frottage indiscreetly in the corner with one another. He smirked. 

“Draco, this is… is this a _gay club_?” Harry asked, incredulous, deliberately averting his eyes quickly from one man who was obviously in the throes of orgasm. Draco just blinked at him.

“Yes, this is where I’ve been coming-pardon the pun- since the end of the war. It helped me forget it all and escape for a few hours.”

Harry had turned a very deep shade of burgundy.

“So… are you… you know, I mean…”

Draco was torn between amusement at Harry’s stuttering and sheer exasperation at Harry’s complete and utter lack of observational skills- surely a problem in a trained Auror?

“Yes, Harry, I’m gay,” he replied slowly, as if he were explaining this to a rather dim-witted child. “I’m surprised you never realised it from our chats. I’ve talked about holidays I’ve been on with various men, the fact I have no girlfriend, and yet you apparently needed me to spell it out for you in big, shiny letters. I. Am. A. Homosexual.”

Much to Draco’s disappointment, Harry flinched slightly at these words. _Did the git… he REALLY never suspected?_ “Look, Harry, if my sexuality is going to be a problem for you, then perhaps we should just-”

“NO!” Harry yelled, grabbing his arm as if worried Draco was suddenly about to leave. “No, it’s not. Honestly. I’m just crap at reading signs and it surprised me, that’s all. I never even suspected.”

“Then you’re the only person on the planet who knows me that didn’t,” Draco responded, his voice mocking. “What are you drinking?”

“Double Jack Daniels, neat please,” Harry replied, knocking it back in one when Draco handed it to him before ordering a bottle of lager.

Finding out that Draco was gay had definitely ruffled Harry, Draco observed, some time later, despite Harry’s assurances it didn’t bother him. Harry had drunk far too much in the two hours they had been here, his emerald eyes losing some of their focus, and he seemed flustered. Draco had also caught him staring at the couples on the dance floor with an expression less like confusion as he had earlier in the evening and more akin to lust.

“Come on, come and dance,” he said finally, holding out a hand. Harry shook his head.

“I can’t dance,” he said stubbornly, taking another swig from a bottle of something called ‘Becks’. Draco sighed and ran a pissed-off hand through his platinum hair. The evening wasn’t going at all to plan. 

“If you have legs then you can dance, prat,” he said acidly. “Now get your arse on the dance floor. I don’t care if you’re crap- it just means I’ll look even better in comparison.”

Harry seemed to sense his former nemesis’ mood and reluctantly allowed himself to be pulled from his seat and dragged to the centre of the dance floor, where the music was blaring out some kind of trance music that he clearly didn’t appreciate. However when Draco disappeared to the bar, returning with shots of flavoured vodka for them both, he relaxed somewhat. System somewhat fuelled with alcohol now, he began to dance, all self-consciousness gone. His hair was damp with sweat, and his green shirt was darkened in patches. Draco ignored the advances of two men who, even by Draco’s high-standards, were gorgeous, focussing purely on the wizard grinning wildly currently in front of him. 

“I need air,” Harry said, half an hour later. Draco agreed. Mentally deciding to let Harry keep the outfit, which was now drenched with sweat, he steered the other man by the elbow out of the club and into the cool October air, shivering slightly at the sudden change in temperature and as the breeze touched his own damp skin. 

“Do you want to go back inside, or call it a night and go home- I mean, back to the Leaky,” Draco said after a few minutes, when Harry looked significantly cooler. 

“I should get to sleep and sober up,” Harry replied. “I’m on-call all this weekend from seven in the morning as it is, and it’s already one.” Draco’s disappointment must have shown, however, for Harry reached over with an arm and squeezed his bicep tightly. “I’ve had a brilliant time tonight, Draco. Thank you.”

The pair walked back to the alley they Apparated into earlier that evening. Draco was just wondering whether he should Apparate Harry back to the Leaky (when, in truth, he was just as intoxicated as the brunet was this time, so ‘making sure his drunk friend got home safely’ wasn’t really a very good excuse), when Harry suddenly pushed him flush against the wall, and covered his mouth with his own. 

Draco was shocked for a few seconds, before returning the kiss enthusiastically. He groaned into the other’s mouth, his brain struggling to catch up with this rather excellent turn of events, as Harry’s tongue slipped in and merged with the blond’s and their lips slid seamlessly together. He could not remember ever being kissed like this; the kiss was far from perfect, there was saliva dripping down his chin, and Harry’s teeth clashed against his own, even scraping against the sensitive skin of this tongue, but that just made it all the more fantastic. He felt his cock straining in his jeans, and was almost painfully hard. When Harry’s hand snaked down and cupped him none too gently through the denim, he bucked into the contact and gasped, reaching his own hands down, brushing his fingers over Harry’s obvious erection, wanting nothing more than to wank him or suck him off, and began fumbling with the buttons, cursing Levi’s for not having a zip-fly. He managed to get two undone before Harry abruptly broke the kiss and pulled Draco’s hands away. Draco looked into the green eyes and saw something close to terror mixed with arousal.

“I’m sorry. I really shouldn’t have done that,” Harry said, refusing to meet Draco’s gaze as he stumbled backwards. He put his face in his hands. “Oh fuck! Fuck!”

“Harry…” Draco began, taking a step forwards towards him with a hand outstretched but Harry interrupted, side-stepping the touch. 

“I… Draco, we probably should stop going out every Friday. I’ll see you around at work, OK?” With that he turned on the spot and Disapparated away, leaving a hurt, confused and very aroused Draco Malfoy standing alone. The combination of emotions was overwhelming.

He was _not_ going to cry, Draco told himself as he felt his eyes well up and he forced back tears. Malfoys do not cry simply because they don’t get laid. Draco turned and punched the wall in frustration, letting out a combined cry of anger and pain when all the act achieved was injuring his hand. As he himself Disapparated, however, he knew. Blaise had been right all along. He’d been denying it strongly to himself- even when tossing off to images of Harry- but after that kiss, he had to admit the truth. Draco was bloody well in love with the bloody Boy Who Lived. And from Harry’s reaction to him he obviously felt something too. Not that it got Draco very far; Harry had all but ended his tentative friendship with the blond with his parting words. 

Draco arrived home and immediately ventured into his bathroom. He splashed some cold water on his face, and applied some Dittany to his scuffed knuckles, his mind still reeling from the recent events.

Harry Potter had kissed him. Harry had _kissed him_. Draco could still feel Harry on his lips, almost taste his scent of sweat, and spice, and beer. Harry’s hand had groped his erection, and he’d definitely been erect when Draco tried to return the favour. He quickly changed for bed, thinking what a complete an utter total fuck-up the evening had become, and for once it wasn’t even his fault. _Damn you, Harry Potter,_ he thought, as he fell into an uneasy sleep. 

**** 

After a confusing weekend full of self-doubt and wondering, Draco finally decided late on Sunday night to confront Harry at work the following day and ask him, bluntly, what was going on. However the other man wasn’t in the canteen at lunch, nor was he in his office. Figuring he was either being avoided, or Harry was out on field duties, Draco returned home dejected. He was _not_ going to try the Leaky Cauldron; he did have some pride still intact. 

Tuesday once more proved fruitless. He was beginning to become very annoyed with Harry, who seemed to have abandoned every ounce of his famous Gryffindor courage over one drunken kiss and grope. 

He was just dressing for work on Wednesday, however, when his mother knocked on his door, wearing a bemused expression that Draco had rarely seen on his mother’s face. 

“Draco, darling, you have a visitor waiting for you in the Floo. Ginevra Potter wishes to speak with you.”

Instantly Draco’s blood ran cold, and he threw on his robes haphazardly before dashing to the Floo. 

Ginny Potter was standing in the drawing room, a hard expression on her face. 

“Malfoy,” she said, as way of greeting. 

“Mrs Potter,” Draco replied curtly, whilst his insides churned. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“It’s Harry,” she said gravely. She moved into the light; Draco could see tear tracks staining her cheeks and he felt his world collapse internally. “He was called in to work on Sunday to help with the capture of several wizards suspected in dealing with dangerous Dark artefacts and he took a curse to the back defending a colleague. He’s in a bad way.”

Draco was through his Floo and standing in the reception of St Mungo’s before he’d even had a chance to engage his brain. A whoosh of green flames seconds later signalled Ginny had Flooed in behind him. She gave him a grim smile. 

“He woke about an hour ago, and keeps saying ‘Draco’ repeatedly,” she said, and Draco could see the pain in her eyes. “I promised him I would come and get you, but I don’t think he could hear me.” The woman bit her bottom lip as it began to tremble. 

Draco followed Ginny to the fourth floor and entered the Spell Damage ward, before allowing her to lead him to a small private room away from the main ward. Ginny opened the door and Draco entered, dumbstruck at the sight of Harry either asleep or unconscious, lying in bed and looking for utterly vulnerable. Two Healers were busying themselves around his bedside, casting monitoring and diagnostic charms. Once they left, Draco collapsed into the nearest chair and buried his head in his hands. He was aware he was trembling.

“Can I ask you exactly _why_ my husband was repeating your name constantly just an hour ago?” Ginny demanded, arms folded. The tone of voice reminded Draco of a very vengeful witch hitting him with a Bat-Bogey Hex a few years ago that still caused him to wince. 

“Because we’re friends,” Draco replied bluntly. “Besides, you threw him out. What the fuck are you doing here?” 

“I’m still legally his wife, and therefore his next of kin,” she replied hotly. “Of course I was Harry’s emergency contact still.”

“Draco,” Harry murmured, still asleep. Draco’s eyes widened. Ginny glared at the blond once and looked away. 

“What, exactly, is going on between you and my husband?” Ginny asked quietly. The question took Draco aback; he wasn’t expecting it. He glanced at Ginny’s left hand and saw her wedding ring was still firmly in place. 

“Nothing that I’m sure you’re thinking,” Draco replied, wondering if that was actually true or not. He didn’t elaborate further, looking instead at Ginny’s narrowing suspicious eyes.

“And what exactly am I thinking, Malfoy?” she spat. Draco sighed and rand a hand through his hair. 

“I know why you and Harry split up,” he said evenly, deciding that denying the truth was useless, “and what you think about his feelings-whatever they may be- for me. He told me weeks ago. Although he was off his face at the time and has no idea I know. But I know you threw him out because you think he’s in love with me.”

Ginny paled further and pressed her lips together until they both disappeared from sight. 

“He talks in his sleep, you know,” she said finally, her voice quieter than Draco had heard it so far that day. “just mutters your name, pretty much like he’s done today. But always with a small smile on his face, and sometimes even laughing. And he calls you ‘Draco’ in them. Never ‘Malfoy’. I thought once he asked me to marry him it would all get better and would stop, but it didn’t. If anything, he started saying your name even more. And then-” Ginny’s face flooded with colour- “he, um, he moaned your name during sex. You know, right just before he-” she looked down at the ground in embarrassment. “The first time he did it, I didn’t say anything, and he doesn’t know he said it, but it happened again, and it just confirmed what I’d already thought. He was thinking of you when he was with me.”

Draco realised he was gaping like a fish out of water at Harry’s soon-to-be ex-wife. 

“Do you know what it’s like to have your boyfriend obsessed to the point of stalking someone else, and coming second to them?” Apparently once Ginny started to speak she didn’t want to stop, and Draco suddenly realised with an unpleasant jolt that no one, not even Weasley and Hermione, knew the exact reason for hers and Harry’s break-up. She needed to get this out. “We’d just started going out, you know, shortly after he almost killed you with that awful spell of Snape’s, and I’m sure he thought he was paying me a lot of attention, but he was still watching you. I’d be talking to him in the Great Hall at mealtimes, my hand so far up his thigh I was almost touching his… well um, you know, and I’d realise he’d not heard a word I’d said, or responded to me at all. He’d be watching you eating a bowl of porridge at the Slytherin table. ‘He’s up to something to do with Voldemort,’ was all he’d say, but how is watching you eat breakfast finding anything out? He told me he’d wanted me for the whole of his sixth year, yet Ron let it slip once that Harry spent most of that year obsessed with you, even talking about you all the time in the common room. What you were doing, thinking, seeing. And then, soon after Dumbledore’s death, he ended it between us. Just like that. Said it wasn’t safe for me to be with him and walked away. It hurt.”

Draco’s mind was reeling. Blaise’s words, _‘We had to listen to every little detail he’d got up to that day… because you watched him so closely. You never could just leave him alone, could you, Draco?’_ echoed eerily in Ginny Potter’s words. Draco ran his hand over his face once more and chanced a glance at Ginny. She looked resigned and defeated, all her trademark feisty spirit lost. 

“Harry’s always done what’s expected of him, rather than what he wants,” Ginny continued sadly. “You’re here now,” she almost whispered, standing up and picking up her handbag. “You’re clearly what he wants. Fuck knows why, but I’m tired of trying to compete with you and losing.” She reached into her handbag, and tore off a sheet of writing paper from a small pad and withdrew a Muggle ballpoint pen, before jotting down her address and handing it to the blond. 

“That’s our- I mean, my- address. Please Floo me when there’s any change. Look after him, Malfoy.” With a final kiss to the top of Harry’s head, she left the room, leaving Draco alone with an unaware Potter. 

**** 

Draco was dozing in the armchair when he felt something grip his wrist. He came to quickly, and saw Harry, half-asleep, his fingers clenched around the blond’s joint.

“Hey,” Harry slurred sleepily. “Are you really here this time, or is it just my imagination again?”

Draco smiled. “I’m really here, you stupid git.” Harry smiled a genuine smile and seemed to come to fully, holding out a hand for his glasses which Draco located and handed to the Auror.

“I’ve had worse,” Harry said, before wincing as he rolled off his side and onto his injured right shoulder. He let out a hiss of pain. “Ow. What was it this time that’s landed me in here?”

“Something nasty, that our Dearest Saviour felt the need to take for some trainee Auror who didn’t know what she was doing properly, you chivalrous prick,” Draco retorted. “Honestly, you can take the man out of Gryffindor…” But he said it with a smile, and Harry instantly returned it. 

“How did you know I was here, anyway?” he asked the other man. 

“Um, Ginny firecalled me,” Draco said. “You were, er, asking for me in your sleep.” 

Harry’s eyes widened and the colour drained from his cheeks. Draco took a deep breath and took hold of Harry’s hand. 

“I’ve had a long chat with her, Harry,” he said. Harry tried to pull his hand free, but Draco held on tightly. 

“She’s told you everything, hasn’t she,” he said miserably. Draco nodded. “Well, now you know how pathetic I am, you can just go, and tell all your little friends what a pitiable loser I-”

That was as far as Harry got before Draco leant over and kissed him, slowly, gently and tenderly, but far from chaste; Harry’s eyes fluttered closed and he let out a contented hum as he felt Draco’s hand slide up his waist before burying itself in his unruly ebony hair. 

“Wow,” he whispered breathlessly when the kiss ended. His cheeks were flushed and Draco thought he could see a bulge in the blanket covering Harry’s body. He was pleased to note that Harry looked as dazed as he himself felt. “I, er, that was, wow.”

“It’s rendered you speechless?” Draco mocked. “Damn, I’m good.”

Just then, the door opened and two Healers entered, greeting Harry and expressing their relief that he had awoken. They rolled Harry onto his left side in order to examine the wound; Draco looked at it and felt his stomach flip. There was a large, black circle just under his right shoulder blade that appeared to be oozing something nasty that smelled like Bubotuber pus. The Healers began to change the dressings and applied some charms whilst they worked. 

“You were very lucky, Mr Potter,” the elder of the two said. Harry laughed. 

“I’m Harry Potter. Of course I was lucky,” he drawled, and even Draco gave a small chuckle. 

“Yes, well, one day your luck will run out,” the Healer chastised. “You’ll live, this time. But you need to be careful, Harry. This isn’t the first time we’ve seen you here. Next time you may not be so fortunate.”

“When can I be discharged?” Harry asked hopefully. 

“A couple of days,” the Healer replied. “I want that burn on your back to stop oozing and scab over first. I’ll check you again in an hour, but please let me know if you need anything.” 

As soon as the Healers had left and the door was closed, Harry reached out for Draco’s hand once more and pulled him close. After another delicious kiss, which left Draco feeling very regretful that Harry was currently injured and lying in a public hospital bed, Harry gingerly shifted positions so he could get a better look at the blond.

“Er, about Friday night,” Harry said, a light blush spreading across his defined cheekbones. “I’m sorry with the way I reacted. I’d wanted to kiss you for weeks, but didn’t even know you liked men, then when I found out you did and that me kissing you was actually a possibility, it was all I could think about doing all night. Then I did, and it was the best kiss of my life and I- I guess I panicked. I’m so sorry I Apparated out of there like a coward, but I was drunk, and confused, and- I’m rambling, aren’t I?”

Draco chortled lightly and kissed Harry’s upturned palm, causing him to take a sharp intake of breath. 

“I’d spent the whole of Saturday thinking about you, and what happened, and already decided to talk to you properly on Monday,” Harry continued. “But I was called to work Sunday evening and, well, you know what happened there. But I am sorry I ran out on you like that on Friday.”

“What do you want, Harry?” Draco asked lightly. He was delighted to see the faint blush already present intensify.

“I want you,” Harry said quietly. 

“Thank Merlin for that,” Draco replied, pressing his lips to the other man’s and devouring his mouth soundly. 

**** 

“Are you sure you won’t come back to the Manor with me for a few days?” Draco asked, as he Levitated Harry’s hospital bag in front of him through the bar of the Leaky Cauldron and into the guest quarters, late on Friday evening. Harry shook his head. 

“I’m fine here. Besides, Malfoy Manor doesn’t exactly hold the fondest of memories for me.” He shuddered involuntarily and Draco was sure he was remembering Hermione’s torture under the Cruciatus Curse at the hands of Draco’s insane aunt. “Not exactly the best environment to recuperate in, is it? Although, I do wish I hadn’t sold the house my godfather left me a couple of years ago, as it could be quite handy right now.”

Molly Weasley had also visited the previous day, fussing around Harry and insisting he return to The Burrow with her, but Harry had again refused. Relations with the Weasleys were somewhat awkward following the end of Harry and Ginny’s marriage, Draco noticed. 

“So…” he uttered awkwardly, once Harry was safely in his room. He began fiddling with a book on Harry’s bedside table, whilst Harry knelt on the bed to open the window to try and air the stale room. “Maybe I should…”

But whatever Draco was going to say was lost. Harry took a deep breath and all but leapt off the bed. He wrapped his arms around Draco’s waist, pulling their bodies flush together, and leaning in for a kiss. 

They were roughly the same height, give or take an inch, and their lips moulded together perfectly, in Draco’s opinion. He sighed and deepened the kiss, licking Harry’s bottom lip in a plea for entrance. Harry complied, opening his mouth, and Draco slid his tongue in, exploring every crevice of Harry’s mouth. 

He felt Harry slide one hand away from his waist and grab his behind, the touch almost like an electric shock to his system. He let out a sound that was far too much like a growl for him not to be embarrassed, yet Harry seemed to like it, pulling the blond even closer so Draco could feel exactly how much Harry had appreciated the sound against his hip.

“Oh fuck, Harry,” Draco gasped, breaking the kiss. He looked into Harry’s eyes, emerald almost obscured by lust-dilated pupils, and, every ounce of self-control snapping, pushed him onto the mattress, climbing on top of him and latching his mouth to the pulse point of Harry’s neck. 

Suddenly he felt Harry struggle from underneath him trying to get free and he froze, climbing off him immediately. 

“Sorry, I, er, did I go too fast?” he replied, uncharacteristically nervous. Harry chuckled.

“No. Draco, you bloody pushed me down on my sore shoulder, you prat,” he laughed, and shifted positions on the bed before beckoning the blond back towards him.

Relief mingled with a feeling of idiocy flooded through Draco as he pounced again, this time pulling Harry on top of him and avoiding his injured shoulder. 

“Oh, god, I need you,” Harry groaned between kisses, and Draco thought he had never heard anything so sexy in all his life. Harry Potter, wantonly asking for him. Yes, Draco could get used to that. His hand reached to Harry’s fly, knowing this time he wasn’t going to be prevented from his ultimate goal. Harry lifted his hips and Draco slid down his trousers, before making quick work of his own, removing his shirt too whilst Harry shrugged out of his pullover. 

Harry faltered slightly when he saw the Dark Mark, and Draco self-consciously placed his right hand over it. Harry pulled it away. 

“Don’t try and hide it,” he said. “You were on the right side in the end, and without you we wouldn’t have won. You saved me that night in your Manor, remember? I know you weren’t loyal to Him.” As if to prove his point, he placed a kiss on the ugly tattoo, before tracing a line of kisses up Draco’s left arm, across his shoulder and collarbone, then down his chest, pausing only to take a nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the pebbled flesh and causing Draco to screw his eyes tight with sensation, which he forcefully re-opened, determined to watch every second of what Harry was doing to him. 

Draco reached down and removed Harry’s glasses, placing them on the bedside table next to their wands. He wanted to see Harry’s face properly. Harry grinned and continued his kisses, circling his belly button before dipping his tongue inside the crevice. 

“Mmm,” Draco hummed happily, knowing Harry could feel his erection, which was by now very, very obvious, tenting his underwear and begging for attention. As if Harry read his mind, a hand was suddenly stroking him through the fabric, and Draco had to fight very hard to regain some control. 

“Merlin,” he hissed, arching his back off the bed. Harry smirked and took the opportunity to pull down Draco’s underwear, leaving the blond completely naked. 

“You’re absolutely beautiful,” the Auror sighed. “Everything is just… you look so… oh, god.” Then he leant forwards and took Draco into his mouth. 

Draco had wanked to this fantasy many times over the past month, but the reality of it exceeded anything his brain could ever have conjured up. Harry was inexperienced, and clumsy, yet every single second of it was the best blowjob he’d ever received in his life, simply because it was Harry giving it to him. Knowing that his was the first cock Harry had ever sucked was bringing Draco dangerously close to orgasm after barely a minute, and he pulled back. Harry looked at him, eyes full of self-doubt. 

“I know I’m new to all this,” he said softly. “Sorry if I’m not very good.” 

“I stopped you because you’re so fucking incredible I was about to come down your throat,” Draco replied bluntly, causing Harry’s eyes to bulge, his face flushing from the compliment. He broke out into a huge smile.

“And that would have been a bad thing because…” he teased, licking Draco’s erection from base to tip, gaining confidence from Draco’s earlier words.

“I have absolutely no idea,” Draco panted, as he fisted the pale blue sheets tightly, abandoning is earlier plan to make this last. Harry closed his eyes in obvious pleasure and sank back down onto Draco’s shaft. 

It really didn’t take much more. Harry’s cheeks hollowed as he sucked, before pulling off slightly and swirling his tongue around the head. The shift in stimulation pushed Draco over the edge and, vaguely aware he probably should have warned Harry first, he came with a moan. He was amazed to see Harry swallow with ease, before moving up Draco’s chest until he was in focus to Harry’s myopic vision, locking his green eyes with his own and wickedly darting out his tongue to lick off a bit of semen that had escaped in the corner. 

“Yep. I’m definitely gay,” he quipped, and they both suddenly burst out laughing. 

“Your cheeks are flushed,” Harry said with surprise, wrapping his arms around Draco’s waist. Draco buried his hands in Harry’s messy hair and hooked he leg over Harry’s. 

“Yes, well, that was the best blowjob I’ve ever received,” Draco replied honestly, then suddenly it clicked why Harry was so unsure of himself. “Harry, that was brilliant, OK? I don’t care what Ginny said to you, it was excellent. You’re excellent.”

He snaked his hand down over Harry’s still boxer-clad erection, and closed his eyes when he heard the other man sigh in total pleasure. 

“You don’t have to…” Harry whispered, but Draco put his hand quickly over his mouth. 

“I can suck you off, or you can screw me. Either way I’ll have the fucking time of my life.”

Draco saw Harry’s erection pulse at this as he gulped. He felt his own cock stir and take a renewed interest.

“I want to- I mean, I’d like, um, can I…” Harry stammered, cheeks flaring. His hand snaked down to Draco’s arse and he slid a finger along the crevice as he pushed himself closer against the blond’s body with a moan of desire, making, in Draco’s mind, his preference clear. He groaned in agreement, and finally pulled down Harry’s boxers, before taking his first view of the naked man now sprawled out next to him.

His cock had already been once more on its way to full hardness, but sprung up instantly at the sight of a starkers Harry Potter. Why had he denied himself this for so long?

“Fuck, Harry,” he purred appreciatively, running a hand over Harry’s toned abdomen. “Do you know how this works? Amongst two men, I mean? It’s quite different.”

Harry bit his lip. “The basics,” he said, his breath catching on the last syllable as Draco ran his tongue over a nipple. 

Draco reached over Harry to retrieve his wand, before casting a quick charm; instantly his fingers were coated in lubrication. 

“Watch and learn this time, Harry,” he smiled, then reached a finger between his legs and entered himself. He smirked in satisfaction as Harry watched, slack-jawed and glazed-eyed, as Draco fucked his own digit, stretching himself.

“Does… doesn’t that hurt?” The brunet asked. Draco shook his head. 

“Uncomfortable at first, but not after a minute or two. And you’re about to rock my world. You’ll see just how brilliant this is when we switch.”

After a few more moments, Draco considered himself well-stretched, and handed Harry his wand. 

“You’ll need to lube yourself up,” he explained. “Women get wet naturally, but we don’t, so have to rely on spells or nasty Muggle synthetic stuff.”

Harry uttered the charm quickly, before smearing the lube onto his erection, causing him to close his eyes. He still looked uncertain. 

“You won’t hurt me,” Draco assured him, and reached up to kiss Harry, gently thrusting his hips suggestively in his direction. Harry took the hint; mid-kiss, Draco felt the bluntness of the other man’s erection push gently in to him, and the animalistic sound that was a cross between a groan and a gasp escape his lover’s lips.

“Oh my god,” he hissed, as he inched forwards slowly, his body trembling slightly. Draco wondered if Harry instinctively knew to enter slowly, or if he was trying to regain some control of himself. He suspected the latter; Draco had only ever had full sex with one woman, but in his experience this way was much more intense as the channel is far, far tighter.

Once he was fully seated, Harry began to move gently. 

“You can’t break me,” Draco said, securing his fingers in Harry’s hair. The latter blushed, a different flush from his arousal. 

“Can’t… move…. going to… come,” he breathed. “Just give me a moment, please.”

He tried a few tentative thrusts and, deciding he had regained some control, picked up speed, before finding a rhythm that had Draco seeing stars and wondering how the hell this was Harry’s first time with this particular sex act. Harry brushed over Draco’s prostate, causing Draco to cry out. Harry stilled for a moment, thinking he’d hurt the blond, before realising it was actually the exact opposite. He angled his strokes to ensure he repeatedly brushed over that spot. _And the Weaselette thinks he’s a lousy shag,_ Draco pondered absent-mindedly as his world threatened to explode, arching his back to meet Harry’s movements. 

Draco knew when Harry was about to come, as his lover’s rhythm faltered slightly, before it sped right up. He buried his face in the crook of Draco’s neck and almost bit down as he reached his climax; Draco could feel his entire body shuddering with the force of it. Harry then watched, wide-eyed and biting his bottom lip, as Draco took his own erection in hand and stroked himself just three times before releasing onto his stomach.

He pulled out gently and collapsed into Draco’s arms.

“Oh my dear fucking god,” he panted, still trying to gain his breath back. “I didn’t know sex could feel like that.” Draco chuckled, pulling the other man close to him once more, ignoring the cooling wetness between their stomachs, and schooling a serious expression on his face.

“Harry, I’ve got something to ask you. It’s important to me, and I hope you say yes, but you can say no if you want.” Harry looked up at Draco’s face, his eyes uncertain and slightly fearful. Draco laughed. “Can I close the window now? My arse is starting to freeze.”

Harry visibly relaxed, and he exhaled. 

“Git,” he muttered sleepily into Draco’s shoulder. 

“And this surprises you because…” Draco drawled. 

“Har bloody har,” Harry replied sarcastically, as Draco pulled the sash window shut. “Will you stay with me tonight?”

“Of course,” Draco replied, slightly amused by the fact Harry thought he may be considering leaving. “It is Friday, after all.”

“Mmmm. Our day,” the Auror slurred, snuggling in closer to his lover, and in the next moment, Draco felt him fully relax, and Harry’s breathing evened out. Draco reached over for his wand, extinguished the lamps, then drifted off to sleep himself, feeling fully content for the first time in years. He had found what he’d been looking for, and Harry had found him. Everything finally felt right. 


End file.
